We Indians are a sentimental lot. We proudly thump our chests at the words of the Preamble: “We, the People of India…” It sounds empowering, revolutionary, almost goosebump-worthy. After all, the Constitution assures us that sovereignty rests with the people. But wait—before you start celebrating your sovereign self, let me break the bad news: in the official pecking order of this grand democracy, you and I—the so-called ultimate source of power—are parked at a humble Number 27.
Yes, twenty-seven. That’s behind Presidents, Prime Ministers, Governors, Chief Justices, MPs, Judges, Secretaries, even Additional Solicitor Generals (whatever that means on the street). Basically, by the time they get to “you, the ordinary citizen,” the VIP buffet is already over, and you’re left holding the paper plate at the back of the line.
The Great Indian Protocol Parade
Here’s how the comedy unfolds. The Government of India has something called the “Order of Precedence”—a very dignified term for what is essentially a VIP seating chart for the Republic.
- Citizen No. 1: The President (of course).
- Citizen No. 2: Vice-President.
- Citizen No. 3: Prime Minister (the man who gives us Mann ki Baat).
- Citizen No. 4: Governors (but only inside their states—outside, they slide down a bit).
- Citizen No. 5: Former Presidents, because once a President, always a President, even if no one remembers your farewell speech.
- Citizen No. 6: The Chief Justice of India and Lok Sabha Speaker.
- Citizen No. 7: Cabinet Ministers, Chief Ministers, Former PMs, Leaders of Opposition, and Bharat Ratna awardees (basically, a power-packed dinner table).
And so, it goes on… Judges, Ambassadors, Generals, Secretaries, Chairpersons, Deputy-this, Additional-that, and by the time the government exhausts the alphabet soup of designations, comes the big reveal:
Citizen No. 27: You & Me.
The “We, the People” fellows. The ones who stand in queues, pay taxes, and, in theory, hold sovereignty.
Imagine telling a schoolkid that the Constitution belongs to him, only to later explain, “But beta, technically you’re ranked somewhere after the Joint Secretary, the Additional Solicitor General, and the Chairman of the Tariff Commission.” It’s like being told you’re the hero of the story, but in the credits, your name shows up after “Guy who brought tea to the set.”
And the best part? This is not a satire I invented. It’s an officially documented protocol of the Republic of India. No conspiracy theories, no WhatsApp forwards—just good old government paperwork.
So, next time someone says, “India is a people’s democracy,” do remember: in the grand order of things, your “peoplehood” is officially at par with Citizen No. 27. Even the Director General of the Border Security Force will politely overtake you in the ceremonial parade, and you’ll be left waving your tiny tri-color from the footpath.
It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? The Constitution starts with We, the People—and ends with We, the Last in Line.
Maybe the framers of our Constitution wanted to keep us humble. Or maybe they just ran out of chairs when drafting the order. Either way, the joke’s on us—the self-proclaimed sovereigns who, on paper, rank below everybody with an official car and a red beacon.
So, dear fellow Citizen No. 27, let’s wear our number with pride. After all, without us, who would these twenty-six exalted citizens actually rule over?
